Masquerade
by Memphis Lupine
Summary: [HaoxJeanne: post-series by several years] Like a character study with lemon: Hao and Jeanne confront one another.


_Continuity:__  Post-series by several years._

_Disclaimer:__  Why, no, I don't own Hao, Jeanne, or any of the other characters – not to mention locations, scenarios, and situations – of the Shaman King universe.  However did you guess?_

_Note:__  This hovers between a character study and a pitiful lemon – my sincerest apologies._

_For Misai._

Masquerade 

        She tucked the buttons back into their ritual places, polished discs of metal looped through the adjoining slits and tugged briefly, sharply, to test their bonds.  The gesture of pulling down was more from nerves than any true sense of modest, belying her pointedly composed features and her carefully drawn air of calmness; on the one hand it mattered little were she to slip, fingers sliding over a button to leave some small patch of skin exposed, as he had already seen her body.  At this point it would be foolish to even try for modesty, and so she checked the pull, the security, the mere presence of her blouse simply as means of busying her hands.

        "Good night, Jeanne," he said, smoothly of course, but also cold.  She took no offense and instead swept a small hand through her pale hair, lifting her chin slightly to ease the task.  "I trust you will find your own way home."  A rustle as he rolled upon his elbows and then, in a long fall of his own dark, sleek hair, straightened fully though she did not dare turn around and acknowledge his presence.  

        Almost as a sly dig, clad in the form of considerate afterthought, he added, "Safely, one might hope.  Have you got a ribbon?"  His dark fingers swept under hers as she slid a hand through her hair once more, his closing around her thick locks and gently guiding straggling locks to his loose grip.

        "Yes."  Quietly, and aloofly just as he was coolly detached, she reached delicately over to the nightstand, fingering a thin yellow ribbon and quickly holding it over her shoulder.  "Don't pull it too tight."  Formality tainted her words to chill grace and amusement was shared with her when his fingertips vibrated, humored, briefly on her nape.  "If at all possible," she continued serenely, clasping her hands tightly in her lap, "make it quick.  I would like to return to my place as soon as humanly possible."

        Another shiver of amusement, nearly morbid in nature, and he took the ribbon gently from her.  "Do you find it at all odd," he murmured vaguely, "that you should trust me to bind your hair, much less any part of you?"  It was, perhaps, a challenge of sorts, as he wound the ribbon around her gathered hair and drew it tightly about before nimbly tying the silken ends of the ribbon in a simple knot.  "Has the thought that I might dare choke you ever crossed your disgustingly pure mind?" his voice teased, though the timbre was laced, below most recognition and subtle, with natural threat.  "Amazing that you would trust your body in my hands."

        He spoke thoughtfully, if distantly, and in the slow movements on one who does such half in jest and half not, he slid his fingers around her throat, warm and promising elegant violence.  She could see in her mind that cryptically kind smile he wore on occasion, a gentle expression denying the calculated coldness in his sharp eyes, and even the supposition of its existence on his face birthed righteous fury; dare he condescend to her in threat as well as conversation?

        Calmly, she grasped his unmoving wrist and slipped her thumb over the flowing pulse in his wrist, applying the slightest pressure to the powerful artery as his blood pounded.  Fury died swiftly into exhaustion, worn thin and still hovering as warning, as forced defense.

        "Shall we kill each other a little more again?" she asked, tightening her thumb on his pulse when his fingers slowly traced up the curving stretch of her neck.  She closed her large eyes, the image of holy serenity poised on the edge of darkness.  "Hao, let go of me; neither you nor I have the time to act like children.  I have my work to do and you your base cruelty."

        He chuckled, and squeezing her neck softly, almost affectionately, he slowly withdrew his hand, fingertips lingering to sweep the skin kept tender along the underside of her chin.  "Base cruelty," murmured Hao, amused.  "How very charming, Jeanne.  That sounds so pointedly charming; a vacation from the clergy might be rather good for those little judgmental prejudices of yours."  Studiously, he rolled the gently dangerous grip of his hands from tickling her chin in a warning caress, to the wrinkled cloth on her shoulders, dark eyes gleaming in the predawn shadows.  "So beautiful," he commented in a detached tone, an impartial observer, "but under it all, such a bitch."

        Jeanne took a muted breath, holding her eyes carefully shut, and spoke severely, "The Lord protects His sons and daughters as the shepherd his sheep.  He does not abandon those who believe and follow Him, and as I," she paused, her jaw tightening as his fingers trailed to ghost the lines of her midriff, hidden beneath the blouse.  He laughed again, mocking, and she could nearly hear his voice whispering how weak she was that a man's hand tracing over her breast could distract her righteousness.

        She closed her eyes and completed serenely, "As I follow His will faithfully I will not be left to the unjust fools."  Childishly, she added, "Are you not their king?"

        He thrust his hands beneath the sleek waistband of her skirts, flaringly volatile before he tampered it with his usual smooth gentility, and he rubbed the pads of his thumbs abrasively on the swell of her hips.  "King I am not," he spoke sharply.  "But I am still god and judgment to more people than you suppose.  Doesn't it fit that I be deity to thousands?  Those shamans who feel cheated by the outcome of the Tokyo Fight: I own them, souls and minds."  His long brown hair, unfettered, slipped over her stern shoulder, an invading swath of silk when he pressed a triumphant smile to the skin rimming her ear.  "Does it frustrate you?  That even in defeat I have won, that your body is known by an uncrowned god?"

        She smiled, quietly humorless in her own right.  "Aren't you frustrated, godless fool?" she queried lightly, face just shy of holy with its sainted, masking tranquility.  "No matter what you say to belittle me, you and I both know you are still defeated.  You are weak without the power of a true god, unable to rid your world of humanity."  Jeanne slipped her eyes shut, pale eyelashes on pale skin, as her smile dwindled into quiet thought, something of a crippled angel held in dark arms; he touched his mouth to her neck, a soft warning.

        "You may know my body," she spoke with eerie tenderness, curling her fingers gently in the dark hair twisted over her shoulder, "but I know your soul."

        The change was palpable, and when his hand flashed to her neck this time, it was no longer in teasing but real, tangible threat, more than prepared to kill her in the darkness of the room; she was quick to react, hurriedly snarling her hand in his hair and sharply pulling it, hard enough to draw a displeased hiss from his throat and a faint, dangerous squeeze from his cradling hand.  Another promise of death in the still impartiality of shadowy morn, and neither moved though his scalp stung and her throat ached, unwilling or, perhaps, unable to release the other.  

        She exhaled, painfully, and could again imagine his expression, the maddened hate glowing like wildfire in his cold eyes, freezing her own into a subtle shell of calmness.  The pleasure he might find, knowing he had the upper hand, was one she would not permit him, would not sacrifice her dignity to allow him his cruel amusement.  

        And, inexplicably, his grip loosened, turning to a doubled-edged, playful caress that touched her neck with eloquent gentility.  "Perhaps," Hao said in a restrained voice, "it is not quite so arrogant of you to say so.  I doubt, myself, that you can lay claim to truly knowing my soul, but at some a level – a chance, I suppose."  She relented her grip on his hair, instead busying herself with buttoning the bust of her blouse as he made a nuisance of himself, flicking the buttons out of their aligned places.  "After all, we are, however obviously different, two who hold the same ideals as belief and goal.  I merely wish to kill them, while you wish to damn them."

        Her fingers fell away, leaving him the awkwardly re-buttoned blouse to happily flick open, and she turned, swiftly, about to face him, affronted certainty on her pale European features.  "You are vile," she said quietly, frustrated to see the aged amusement in his gleaming, dark eyes.  "I wish to purify the human race, to better cleanse them in place of the heartless genocide you offer.  Do not say we are the same, because we are _not_.  You are a monster and I am a prophet; we are nothing alike."

        He smiled, slyly.  "Don't you know what monsters do to prophets?" he asked lightly, skimming the blouse off as she smiled thinly.  Leaning toward her, he brushed his mouth over hers, and then catching the long tail of hair sweeping down her back, pressed his lips fiercely to hers, steeled greed and mockery.  

        "Monsters kill," he whispered with a rakish, violent smile, "and prophets die.  You will die and I will continue, eternally flowing from death to life."  His smile was dark and shaded with sinister mirth, a cattish twist to his lips and moonlight reflecting white glimmers at her from the inky depths.

        "I will kill you," she replied simply and shifted her weight slightly, from an awkward position to resting on her shins.  "I was born to light the path of the lost, and remove those who deceive and turn from that path.  What do you think you are but a deceiver?  Those men and women who follow you are lied to."  She moved and offered the smooth heel of her palm, the corner of her mouth twitching as he obligingly nibbled, sharply, at the curve.  "Which reminds me I must head home soon; Marco has been rather protective lately."

        "He's probably jealous," said Hao slyly, pausing to touch a light kiss on her palm.  "I think he's obsessed with you."  The idea seemed to please him; Jeanne made a disparaging sound and reluctantly leaned forward when he crooked his finger teasingly, having decided to switch moods.  "It's flattering that you prefer your hated foe to your lieutenant; wonder how pleased he would be to know of our arrangement?"

        "Don't."

        He looked at Jeanne with that same owlishly perplexed look she had often seen on Yoh's face, though she knew, resolutely, that Hao was at best mimicking the expression.  It was far too human to be associated with him, just as charming tones of voice were irreconcilable with the knowledge of death and blood.

        "Don't play games with me," she said, voice quiet.  "We aren't friends and we aren't lovers in that romantic sense of the word; all we share is sex."  She placed her hand gently on his mouth, more out of an impulse to keep him silent than any need for affectionate gesturing.  Noting without surprise the faintly humored light in his eyes as his features drew to a calculated observance, she watched him steadily, plain and still ethereal in the moonlight.  

        "Don't try to be charming; don't try to make it seem as though either one of us cares; and certainly don't try to pretend interest."

        He was amused, and carefully closed his hand over her wrist, pulling her fingers from their hovering place over his lips.  "Jeanne, my self-important dear," spoke Hao, almost mockingly kind, "I would never dare think so low of you as to expect your love.  What could I ever find to use it for?  Never companionship; I have enough of that as it is."  He made an undignified snorting noise and tapped his fingertips on the skin along her underarm, drumming some slow, erratic beat.  "I have no need for deceit: bedding alone is on occasion unpleasant.  I don't want or care about the state of your heart."  His small, flickering smile was in part a challenge, one hidden as he shifted her hand back to his mouth.

        Jeanne smiled in return, satisfied with his response.  "An accord, then."  She glanced out the window, at the light filtering through the glass and wondering that she should feel no guilt.  "Have I sold my soul, then," she spoke vaguely, a look of thought on her face.

        He brushed his mouth to her neck, lips warm to the touch, and still thoughtful, quietly, she touched his cheek with her fingernails, drawing faint patterns down the brown curve of his face.

        "One day I will kill you," she said with some muted regret, and drew her hand in a smoothing caress over his broad shoulder.

        "Oh?"  Moving a parting kiss to the subtle swell of her rounded chin, he shifted up to forcibly mold her mouth, scolding and more demanding than she wanted, as if he where pulling something out of her.  "Odds are in my favor," he said apologetically, and cupping her face gently gave her a most unpleasant smile.  His next kiss was a bit more callous, and he bit sharply over her lower lip, absently twitching his thumb across the hollow of her cheek.

        She sucked shortly on her lower lip, composing her features.  "Arrogance does not befit you."  His fingers pressed against her cheek, forceful enough to draw attention but not causing any pain; she nodded, privately, at some inner confirmation and settled her mouth over his, lifting a hand to sweep atop the dark back of his own.  Subtly, her fingers tightened over his knuckles, sliding to the wide grooves between his fingers.

        If he were at all undignified she might have considered his response a chortle, but it clashed with her image of him – spiteful or not – to observe it as so.  He pulled back long enough to murmur, sharply with narrowed eyes, "Pride goes before the fall," and his mouth returned to hers, swiftly and efficiently tugging her mouth open to slip his tongue inside.  

        Her fingers played over his as she leaned closer to him, raising slightly on her knees and tasting his lip as the opportunity proved.  He laughed, once and silently, a self-possessed shudder that ran through his shoulders and brought a humored tremble to his fingers, held carefully beneath hers; as his eyes glinted, lightened as though on the verge of a jest, she deepened the kiss, slowly releasing his hand and sliding forward to fit her small body along his.  Another amused shudder and she laced her free hand in his long brown hair, pulling his head back with a halfhearted tug.

        Hao was swift to cup a hand along the delicate small of her back, levering her fully on to the bed and grinning charmingly down at her as he pulled back.  "You'll be a bit late," he said conversationally, and she wriggled her nose slightly.  "Not that it feels as though you'd mind."  His fingers slipped under the band of her skirt again, teasing over skin before sliding between her legs.

        "Shut up," Jeanne said just as calmly, and stiffened slightly, with a soft noise.  "Ah," and she curled her fingers closer to his scalp.  At his soft laugh, she tightened her grip in his hair, shifting her hips as she dragged his face back to hers; entertaining her mouth with his, she felt his fingers trickling playfully along her inner thigh, lightly enough to tease, and his other hand sliding along the pale expanse of her back, tracing the gentle rise of her spine. 

        "Do you feel inclined to taking your skirt off now?" he whispered, amused, against the corner of her mouth, trailing his lips down the sweep of her chin.  "It's really only getting in the way at this point."  His fingers played for another moment along her thigh before tickling and slipping firmly into the crux of her legs.  Hao busied his mouth with nibbling at her nape, alternately gentle and sharp as the charismatic smile remained on his lips.

        She made a pleased sound, smoothing her fingers through the brown hair tangled around them and idly tracing her fingernails over his shoulder.  "I can't if you're in the way," she said pointedly, and sucked in a breath when he wriggled the fingers held between her legs.  "God damn it, Hao," she swore, both a hiss and a sigh.  

        He laughed again, quietly, and slid his mouth quickly down her chest to the swell of her breast, to bite and tease the skin with his tongue; the matter of caressing gave way to a more urgent play of fingers and mouths as somehow, awkwardly, they managed to rid her of her skirt and suddenly flimsy underwear.  She laughed, as well, softly in her throat, and sped her fingertips lightly across the flat tension on his back, urging him to shivers.

        Groans and murmurs were natural, idly becoming the replacement for coherent speech and the occasional pleased giggle taking the place of their earlier barbs; he played his tongue across her slender hip, and she wriggled, pulling him back up to nip her fingernails into the swarthy skin joining neck and shoulder.  Flesh made more sensitive by the heightened grazing of bodies and fingertips prickled, as though in response to some consuming coldness that drove him to carefully slide his knee between her legs, plying her thighs easily from one another; she was, in turn, driven to smile privately and touch a kiss to his lip, arcing her hips upward swiftly.

        Hao allowed her one of his odd smiles, darkly smug and yet charming, before he fluidly bruised his mouth against the swell of hers, thrusting into the inviting warmth of her arched hips.  He made a curious sound in the back of his throat, echoing her muted gasp.  His fingers tightened in the folds of the sheet, just as her fingernails drew closer to his shoulder blades, nails scratching lightly over skin and muscle alike.

        He stroked deep and hard, biting her lips and enduring the same in return as she slowly began to draw her nails down the tensed curves of his back.  She hooked her legs around his back, tightly and in a natural movement, reacting as he bore down on her, stronger and with a grin.  An odd, free laugh bubbled up in her chest, kept tapped back until he pressed a soft kiss to her neck and muttered something obscene, skirting one hand to her breast as he continued pressing down.  

        When she did laugh, tilting her head back and feeling each nerve along her body singing with total, shivering pleasure, she felt the sheer joy reverberating through it, filling the silent room as she tightened her body, her hips drawing tightly up in a final acceptance, warm and taut.  Limp warmth possessed her, a wash of heat striking through her pulsing core as he, too, stiffened and made a soft, welcoming noise.

        "It's dawn outside," he thought to say with his sly smile, and touched his lips to her forehead before closing his dark eyes.

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**End!**

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End file.
